


17 - Semblance of Truth

by distantstarlight



Series: 31_Days_of_Porn_Challenge_2017 [17]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: 31 Days of Porn Challenge 2017, Costume or Disguise, Day 17, Jealous Sherlock, John is on a date, M/M, Really lame disguises that work, Sex, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Sherlock isn't actually good at disguises, Stalker Sherlock, happy ending guaranteed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-18
Updated: 2017-05-18
Packaged: 2018-11-02 01:23:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10934067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/distantstarlight/pseuds/distantstarlight
Summary: John just wants a night out with his date, is that so much to ask? Apparently, it is because isn't that Sherlock right over there?





	17 - Semblance of Truth

Of all the things Sherlock had done, this was the most personally outrageous. _He wasn’t even good at disguises. The thing with the thing? Just a hat? The other thing? Another hat. That moustache? Drawn on at the last moment with a stolen eyeliner pencil._ Sherlock seemed to get by on hair ruffles and puppy-dog faces. He could cry on demand which was actually sort of useful but mostly he got on with just being himself and steam-rolling his way over potential obstacles. He called himself a master of disguise but John didn’t know anyone who agreed with him, not in London anyway. Perhaps when Sherlock had been abroad, he'd put a bit more effort into it, but he still hadn’t told John about it, so there was no knowing, not yet anyway.

John struggled to keep all expression off his face as their tour group was led from one display to the other. “If you’ll examine the tank to your left you will see preserved specimens of several species of squid…” Sherlock was leading the tour group through the exhibition, calmly guiding the collection of tourists as if he’d done it a thousand times before. John didn’t know how to react. Sherlock was disguised…sort of. He was wearing a brightly coloured shirt that screamed the words _Follow Me_ in cheerful bubbly letters, and, predictably, _a hat_ that had a small flag coming out the top that said _Tour Leader_. Sherlock had managed to tuck his riot of curls up inside it, and despite the fact that he’d made no other efforts, he didn’t _look_ like the now famous consulting detective that the army doctor once again roomed with.

“This guy is amazing. He seems to know every little detail.” John glanced up, suddenly reminded that he was on a date at travelling exhibition showing at the _Natural History Museum_. It was the first date he’d been on since everything with Mary had ended. After that fiasco, John had decided to broaden his personal horizons by exploring his much-denied interests, and as a result, John was currently going through a travelling aquarium exhibit with a much taller man named Bill Murray, a tall, pale, ginger who was even more polished than Sherlock, and pleasant to boot. They’d met at a medical convention and discovered that they’d both worked the same military circuit when in the army. After a long night of drinking and swapping war stories, Bill had confessed his interest and asked John out, now here they were.

“He seems the sort that would,” replied John dryly, giving his best friend a hard look that went unacknowledged. Sherlock hadn’t reacted when John told him he was accepting a date from a bloke. All he’d done was ask for some tea, which John had dutifully provided. Now, here he was, not one meter away from John, pretending to be excited about dead marine animals and their characteristics. “The _Humbolt squid_ flashes red as it preys, a _brilliant_ display. Ah, look, _carnivorous sponges_!” It was debatable what was more frightening, how naturally ebullient Sherlock appeared right now, or the horrific creature posed inside a tank, eye-level to the tour group.

 _Wait. Carnivorous what?_ John blinked and followed Sherlock’s directions, turning with everyone else to peer into another display, “Of course, it would be impossible to travel with _living_ specimens, more’s the pity, but we’ve collected donated specimens from observatories all around the globe.” Only John noticed their tour guide ignoring the tank he was talking about in favour of giving Bill Murray an almost angry looking over. John blinked hard for a moment. _Sherlock looked jealous! What?_ John experienced a strange warm jolt in his midsection as he took in his best friend’s expression. Sherlock’s engrossed and cheerful tone didn’t change, “ _Chondrocladia Lyra_ , a very rare specimen of a newly discovered species. Samples with as many as six vanes have been observed in their natural habitat, the exoskeletons of its prey embedded within the body of the sponge itself.” Sherlock was good at making the macabre sound fascinating. Everyone was _oohing_ and crowding closer to the glass to peer at the tiny entrapped corpses, even Bill.

Sherlock led the group through the rest of the exhibit.  At the final display, he gave a quick farewell before managing to melt away into the growing crowds John had no idea why Sherlock would have ever needed to learn about obscure marine flora and fauna, but he clearly had, words like _biome_ and _copepod_ fell naturally from his lips. John wanted to ask him what was going on but felt odd about pointing out that Sherlock was even _there_ to his date. Bill hadn’t noticed, with any luck John would be able to keep his date going uninterrupted, though he planned to have several hard words with Sherlock later. John _deserved_ some private time. Sherlock had to learn that he didn’t have any right to spy on him, there were limits after all, “That was fantastic. Where to next?”

John took Bill to lunch at a small but popular eatery he’d discovered several weeks ago. John had the foresight to book a table, and they arrived just in time to claim their reservation. The concierge gave them menus, and a few minutes later a tall slender man showed up to take their drinks order. John didn’t even look up as he listened to a very familiar voice with an unpleasantly familiar French accent, introduce himself as _William_ before he began to recite the establishment’s drinks specials. The doctor was too busy looking at the server’s shoes. Italian leather. _Sherlock’s custom-made Italian leather shoes_. Ignoring the fact that Sherlock was now pretending to work at a restaurant John just smiled over at Bill, “Whatever you’d like.”

With a soft approving murmur, _William_ gave a small bow and departed. Bill didn’t seem to notice anything unusual, and John would be damned before he gave into whatever madness was currently driving his best friend to tag along on his date. _Was Bill involved in a case somehow? That would be very like Sherlock then, using John to get close to a suspect in order to determine the facts. On the other hand, there was no way for Sherlock to have known in advance that John had met someone at the convention, nor should he have had any prior knowledge that John would even accept a date with them, never mind that the soldier had never once gone out on a date with a man while he lived at 221 B Baker Street. Jealousy was the only answer! No, that couldn’t be right. Sherlock didn’t feel things that way. It had to be Bill, there was something odd about Bill._

He tried to brush off his paranoid maunderings but now John was on alert, suspicious of his company, yet at the same time, actually interested in what the man had to say. He was very handsome too, willowy, but broad-shouldered, and well-versed in his field. _That Bill seemed to have a bit of a thing for ex-military didn’t hurt either. His eyes were blue, and yes perhaps his hair did remind John a bit of Sherlock on casual days, and maybe his high cheekbones brought to mind a certain consulting detective, and yes, Bill did have a very similar masculine but willowy build but no, John wasn’t looking for a stand in for his best friend. He was genuinely interested in Bill Murray_.

He was.

Seriously.

It wasn’t like being on a date with a woman. Bill was easy to talk to, undemanding, and often ribald in his commentary. By the time _William_ brought their first round, the now openly laughing John was determined to continue ignoring the presence of all mad scientists in the immediate vicinity, deferring to Bill for all their selections. “Very good, monsieur.” William had a bit of bite to his words now, and John smiled to himself, not wondering for a moment why it felt so good to have Sherlock following him around. It should be aggravating as hell. Instead, it was all he could do not to give in to his urge to laugh at Sherlock’s daring. _How did Bill not recognise Sherlock? They’d met at the flat and Sherlock was hardly forgettable_.

John sighed to himself and admitted that his reactions to Sherlock’s antics were never rational. _What would probably drive others completely around the bend at worst only annoyed John?_ With a sinking heart he realised that no matter how much he might like Bill, nothing more than friendship was going to happen. It made the doctor feel some regret because Bill Murray was a very fine specimen of man, his behind rivalled Sherlock’s, should either of them ever be in a position to be compared. Not that they ever would.

No.

John had a momentary vision of Bill and Sherlock naked, side by side. They would be lovely, almost unearthly. It was actually a bit unfair. Just as quickly John pictured himself in the middle, and for the first time, John’s confidence wavered.

 _Sherlock and Bill were both tall, beautifully shaped, fit, and remarkably handsome men. Both of them were brilliant at what they did, were born to fit into any society, and what on earth had John been thinking, going on a date with Bill? He was so old by comparison. Years older, years and years_. John knew he was being a bit dramatic but he couldn’t help himself as he catalogued every undesirable feature about himself.

His self-confidence rallied itself. Bill has asked _him_ out, not the other way around. Sherlock was stalking him, _again_ , not the other way around. Clearly, there was _something_ here that both of them wanted, and knowing that was enough to calm John once again. Bill didn’t notice that their meal arrived via an entirely different person and that bothered John. He was used to Sherlock who noticed everything and listening to him deduce the world as it passed him by was a soothing stream-of-consciousness experience that John rather enjoyed. Bill kept talking about other restaurants in London that he’d enjoyed, and John realised he was being asked out for another date. Demurring skillfully, John managed to get to the end of the meal and out of the restaurant without making a commitment. It wouldn’t be fair to Bill, especially if the rest of this date tanked. They were going for a bit of a stroll before heading to a nightclub that Bill wanted to try.

Sherlock was somehow at the door, waiting in the coat-check booth wearing one of his old uni button-downs and John’s second favourite vest. He had a small cap on his head and glassless glasses on his nose. Bill didn’t even glance at him but for a moment, John and Sherlock made eye contact. There was a hint of desperation in Sherlock’s eye and more than a dash of unhappiness but then the club’s inner doors opened and John was sucked into the mayhem with Bill.

It was loud and hypnotic. The high energy of the club was infectious and Bill danced John around the floor before they made it to the bar for refreshments. John wasn’t surprised to see Sherlock there but he was surprised to see his outfit, or not see. Sherlock was bare from the waist up, and he was wearing John’s dog tags around his neck. His hair was slicked up into a peak on the top of his head and he had dark liner enhancing his already riveting eyes. He was slinging drinks and calling out orders in an accent that seemed vaguely American. John noticed a tattoo or what seemed to be a tattoo on Sherlock’s lower back when he turned to grab a bottle off the mirrored shelf behind him. There were four letters in a row right above his belt, SJWH. _Their initials mixed together._ John blinked but then Bill was pulling him away, drinks in hand, and heading out to the floor.

Well, those were some pretty blatant tips. John danced with Bill, smiling and laughing, but Bill wasn’t a fool and in between energetic songs, he pulled John off to the side, “Let me guess, it’s not me, it’s you?”

John felt terrible but Bill was just smiling warmly, and didn’t seem offended, “I’m sorry, am I that obvious?”

Bill shrugged elegantly, “You seem to have a type. I don’t think I’m quite it.” He looked down at John and let a tiny bit of hunger into his gaze, “Too bad for me but then, I have very particular tastes too.”

John was a bit surprised, “A type? Tastes?”

Bill laughed easily and gave John’s good shoulder a friendly push, “I saw you checking out all those blokes, I didn’t mind. They were all rather fetching. I flatter myself that they all looked a bit like me but you like brunettes just like I like blonds. It’s just one of those things.”

John felt embarrassed because it was beyond rude to be eyeing other people when on a date with someone else but Bill seemed to be unoffended. He didn’t even seem to realise that all of those supposed blokes were in fact, Sherlock. John felt awful now because Bill really was an incredibly nice man, and gorgeous besides. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Tell you what, let’s start again but this time, instead of me trying to impress you into bed you can act as my wingman. I’m just going to flat-out confess to a humiliatingly long dry spell and that I’m dying to bed _someone_.  I was rather hoping for you but perhaps you would be a sport and can help me locate a substitute?”

John laughed ruefully, “I don’t know how much help I can be, mate.” It turned out, quite a bit. John went to the bar to buy another round of drinks, Sherlock now mysteriously absent, and received a lascivious smile from the fair-haired man who had taken his place, “There you go, gorgeous, hope that tall piece of sexy you’re with appreciates it.” In short order, Bill was at the counter with John who watched his date eye-fuck the bartender so hard that the poor man nearly came right on the spot. He grinned up at Bill after drink orders compelled the now shaky man to continue with his job, “Well?”

“You are amazing, John.” Bill was shaking his head, “I feel kind of shitty asking for help with this, especially since things were going so well between us.”

John shook his head, “It’s alright Bill since you seemed to be set for the rest of the night, I’m going to just get myself out of the way. No one likes a third wheel.”

“Isn’t that your flatmate?” Bill was looking over John’s head and staring behind him, “He’s got that crazy huge coat, doesn’t he? I’ve never seen one quite like it. I’m sure it was him. I can see the coat heading toward the door.”

“I’ll just go catch him up, have fun, play safe, and keep in touch, yeah?” John wouldn’t mind being friends with Bill, he truly did like the man, just not enough to be intimate with.

Bill seemed to agree, “Better haul it, soldier. Target exiting now.”

They snapped off farewell salutes and then John nearly ran from the club. He was annoyed with the coat check stop who couldn’t find his ticket so John abandoned his coat and ran out the club doors. Sherlock was just climbing into a cab. He was more than slightly shocked when John slid in right behind him and said, “221 B Baker Street, if you please.” Sherlock had managed to get himself back into his regular clothing, his hair resuming it’s normal barely contained curl cloud appearance.

“John? Where is your _date_?” Sherlock could not have saturated a single word with more venom than he did right then. He had John’s coat, tossing over to John without even a hint of remorse.

John just put it on, “Bill? He’s hooking up with the bartender.”

Sherlock actually craned his head around like some kind of massive bird and stared down at John in what looked to be utter shock, “He chose the bartender over _you_?” Sherlock really was good at single syllable emoting because now he’d managed to pack a fair amount of disbelief into one.

John felt something funny tingle deep inside himself. _He’d been annoyed and amused in turn all night as Sherlock tailed him using one lame costume after another. Now he was sitting here looking angry and a little bit offended, and John began to understand why_. “He’s not my type, it’s not his fault. He understood.”

“So that’s it? You invested an entire evening haemorrhaging pheromones at each other just to call it quits at the eleventh hour?” Sherlock sounded sulky, “Why follow me from the club, anyway? It was packed full of mostly inebriated women. Surely you could have had your fill.”

“Not really in the mood for random hookups, Sherlock. It’s fun when it’s what I’m looking for but somehow I doubt it’s ever really going to satisfy me again.”

The rest of the trip was conducted in silence but John didn’t mind. Sherlock at least seemed to be content to return to the flat, he could have demanded to be dropped off at the morgue or even just on the street somewhere. John debated about saying something but Sherlock looked at him again and just said, “Not now.”

John shrugged. He had questions for Sherlock but they could wait. When they were finally home and part-way through their tea ritual, he finally got one out, “Why did you follow me all night?”

Sherlock fiddled with the sugar bowl. It was a custom made ceramic one that John had commissioned from a student potter with the words _Not For Experiments_ scribed into the lid. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Should I deduce?”

“You’re awful at deductions.”

“You were jealous because you want _me_ to go out with _you_ and then take you home again, and not some other person.”

There was a good deal of silence in the flat. “You’ve gotten better at deductions,” Sherlock muttered. He sounded almost angry.

John shrugged, “It took me a while to put it together, I’m not very bright sometimes.”

“Don’t denigrate yourself, John. I don’t like it.” Sherlock was looking at him closely, “I thought you would have a list of objections. Not gay? Just friends? Too risky?”

John sat back in his chair sipping his tea and looking at Sherlock, “What’s my biggest weakness?”

“You adore danger.”

“What’s the worst possible thing that can happen if we give this a go?”

“It fails horrifically and we lose each other forever.”

“Sounds terrifying.”

“It really, really is.”

“I’m not afraid if you’re not.” _He wasn’t. Not about Sherlock. Not about this_.

Sherlock was looking at John intently again but John just let him. Now that the option was there, John couldn’t find a single objection anywhere. _So what if he wasn’t gay? He didn’t need to be to feel things for Sherlock, he didn’t need to hide behind any sort of label. Sherlock wasn’t an exception, he was unique. He was so incredible that he surpassed simple definitions like gender. John felt privileged just knowing him_. “You’re serious.”

“Very.” John set his teacup down, “We’re best friends. Even without sex, you’ve always been my number one focus area, bar none. You know it, I know it, everyone I have ever tried to date knows it. Most of London thinks we’re married or at least dating, so why not? Why not make some truth from rumour? So what if we’re both men or if we were friends first? I’m willing to bet that sex between us will just make things better, simpler.”

“I would think it would complicate matters.”

“No, it bothers you when I date anyone and you’ve always been pissy about me sexing anyone up. I’m figuring that you are a mite territorial and you want to stake a claim openly. I like to fuck and I’m thinking that you’re not so sure about that bit of things but that you’d still rather me fuck you than me fuck someone else.”

Sherlock was silent for a minute, “The idea has appeal.”

“Well, it appeals to me.” John had never felt so confident, “Here it is Sherlock. Do you want me as not only your best friend but your lover as well? I’m willing. I’m completely willing.”

“I haven’t had a lover in a very long time.” Sherlock’s admittance was almost ashamed.

“I’m actually surprised that you’ve had one at all. That it's been a long time doesn’t surprise me one bit. You don’t really warm up to people very easily.”

Sherlock looked uncomfortable, “It was an experiment in school. I just wanted the data. He wasn’t exactly…kind.”

“What’s his name? I bet I can find him and then I will happily kick his arse till he cries.” John was completely serious. _He didn’t need to know details. Someone had hurt Sherlock and John wanted them to hurt in return, it was that simple_.

Sherlock was smiling down at him, “Unnecessary, John but thank you for the offer. I’d much rather continue not thinking about that and get on with some new data.”

“That’s what I’m here for, to help.” John was smiling softly because things were working out. They were here together and moving forward, together. It was exciting and thrilling and risky and everything he’d never felt before when starting a relationship. John was certain, more certain than he’d ever been, “What information would you like to try to collect first?”

Sherlock had a very detailed list that John agreed to without hesitation since it involved both of them doing exactly the same thing to each other so that Sherlock could make comparisons and evaluations. They proceeded to the loo where Sherlock managed to make even the less glamorous parts of preparations actually interesting as well as informative, and where they shared their first shower afterwards. John thought he’d feel awkward or uncomfortable but he didn’t. Instead, it was relaxing and easy. Sherlock was right here with him, they were on the same page, they had the same goals in mind, and both of them were committed to seeing it through.

They made out for a long time. Wearing robes, they lay on Sherlock’s bed and explored each other through the fabric. John agreed with Sherlock’s assessment that the barriers just made their caresses that much more exciting. When they shed them, Sherlock changed his mind about the excitement level as John began to stroke and touch him everywhere.

It was amazing to watch Sherlock lose himself in sensation. John did some experimenting of his own and learned that Sherlock’s long and pale throat was as sensitive as he’d always hoped. Sucking kisses along it made the taller man almost shake and it was a powerful moment for John. John learned that Sherlock’s nipples seemed indifferent to attention unless firmly pinched and twisted and that Sherlock responded more acutely to having the lower portions of his pectorals kissed instead. John soon learned that he quite enjoyed how it felt to have Sherlock’s surprisingly heavy body against his back and that feeling the drag of Sherlock’s cock in the crease of his arse was insanely arousing. When Sherlock’s fingers fluttered hesitantly over his anus, John didn’t hesitate or falter, pushing back encouragingly.

“John.” John absolutely delighted at how wrecked Sherlock sounded and regretted only a small amount not being able to see his face from their current position. Sherlock was heartbreakingly gentle and tender, generous with his kisses and caresses. “You make me _feel_ so many things, John Watson.” Sherlock’s voice was as gentle as his fingers as he coaxed John onto his back to look at him.

There was so much emotion on the detective’s face that John was falling to pieces. _Here was a Sherlock Holmes that no one ever got to experience. Here was a Sherlock Holmes that wasn’t hiding behind a mask of indifference, that wasn’t shielded in disdain, that wasn’t wrapped in his socially acceptable suit of bespoke armour. This was the Sherlock Holmes that only John Watson knew, the one who got scared, and was occasionally clumsy, the man who ran to John to fix whatever hurts he was suffering, who time and time again put his unwavering trust in John to make things right. This was the face of the Sherlock who had allowed his own body to be broken and tortured because it prevented John from suffering. Sherlock was often misunderstood, rejected, reviled even. Here was the man who would never be able to hide from John Watson because John now saw Sherlock for who he truly was. He was John’s_.

John had never understood what it meant to find your other half but he did now. He’d always felt fine as a singular individual but he wasn’t, not at all. Sherlock was the part of him that he’d managed to live without but couldn’t any longer. Sherlock was his heart, his soul, his purpose and John cared for him so fiercely he thought the brightness of it would sear them both to dust. Sherlock was in him now and it was strange and right at the same time. John had never felt such fullness and wondered how he’d ever been satisfied without it.

Sherlock stayed silent except for the roughness of his inhalations, his eyes taking in everything John did. John made sure not to censor himself, allowing Sherlock to learn everything he could about what John experienced. When he finally spoke, Sherlock’s eyes were dark with the desperate edge of arousal, “I know what forever looks like, John, it looks like you.” With those few words, Sherlock managed to lean forward enough to kiss John before whispering, “That’s how long what I feel for you will last.”

“You’re the love of my life,” John said with wonder, realisation spoken out loud. He looked at Sherlock who had stilled within him, “I love you, Sherlock.” John was shocked by the simple truth of it so he said it again, “I love you, Sherlock.”

Sherlock seemed incapable of speech. His body writhed on top of John’s, his toes scrabbling for purchase as he struggled to get deeper inside of John’s body. “Oh,” Sherlock sounded frantic with need, “John!” John found himself being held in place by Sherlock’s long arms while the rest of Sherlock seemed to be trying to force it’s way inward with a long shuddering grind. John faintly felt the damp spurts inside him as Sherlock gasped his way through his orgasm, “You!” he demanded weakly.

Sherlock’s voice was thick and raspy, exhausted and deeper than ever. It shivered against John’s inner ear and triggered a body-wide tingle that preceded the cascade of spasms and cries that made John’s orgasm loud as well as vigorous. Sherlock seemed riveted, and he spent a good deal of time afterwards kissing John’s face and ears until they both calmed

Sherlock slowly pulled away from John and it was clear that he was entirely reluctant to put space between them. Distance meant entering the real world again, the one where Sherlock put his disguise back on and went back to being cold, distant, and self-contained. John didn’t want it so he tugged Sherlock close again and held him, “Stay with me.”

Sherlock sagged back onto the bed gratefully, now making no bones about getting as near to John as he could manage. John knew that this was just another beginning for them, like so many other beginnings, even the parts that had looked like endings. Relaxed and content, he closed his eyes and listened to Sherlock drift off. It wasn’t long before John joined him, smiling as he slept, his hand cupping Sherlock’s face.

 


End file.
